Regrets
by Deana
Summary: Aramis and Porthos have a much-needed conversation after the events of season 3, episode 1. For the June 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest: Regrets.


**Regrets**  
Tag to season 3, episode 1  
A Musketeers story by Deana

For the June 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest: Regrets.

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"You need to talk to him."

Porthos turned his head, finding Athos standing beside him. He sighed and went back to staring at Aramis, who was sitting alone at the table in the garrison.

"I know you're angry," Athos continued. "But Aramis was your closest friend—"

" _Was_ ," Porthos ground out. "He was, until he _left_."

"He felt that he had good reason," Athos said.

Porthos opened his mouth, but closed it again, shaking his head. When he and Aramis had successfully blown up the gunpowder so the Spanish couldn't have it, he'd felt the old camaraderie with his friend…but after that, he'd grown angry again...not as much, but still angry. "How can you let this go so easily and act like nothing happened?"

Athos moved in front of him so Porthos would have no choice but to look at him. "I left the people of Pinon. You left your friends in The Court. We are no different than he is."

Those words hit Porthos like a ton of bricks.

"Go talk to him," Athos said again. He grabbed Porthos' arm tightly. " _Go_. Do you think leaving was easy for him? Do you really?"

Porthos closed his eyes.

"If he came to war with us, what if he'd been killed?" Athos said. "You have another chance, Porthos. Go _now_ , before your friendship is damaged beyond repair."

Guilt assailed Porthos, and he nodded his head.

Athos released his arm and moved aside, watching as Porthos slowly walked over to the table.

Aramis looked around the garrison, part of him feeling like he'd never left, and the rest of him feeling like he hadn't been there in a decade. The musketeers who had known him four years ago greeted him warmly, glad to have him back, but there was still an empty place in his heart that only his close friendship with Porthos could fill.

It hurt.

Aramis closed his eyes and hung his head, which was aching from the fighting that he'd been involved in that day. He ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh, wondering what he was going to do. The emotional pain from Porthos' unexpected anger had literally become a physical pain, like something was squeezing his chest and stomach in a vise. He never thought his closest friend could ever be so angry at him, and he wondered if Porthos would ever be able to forgive him.

The thought of being a musketeer again without his friendship with Porthos was overwhelmingly sad, and Aramis closed his eyes with a sigh.

A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder...a familiar touch that he would recognize even in his sleep, despite having not felt it for four years.

Aramis looked up.

Porthos hesitated, seeing the unsure expression on Aramis' face. The pain that he could read in his eyes was both physical and emotional, and he noticed the nasty bruise on his head. With an inward jolt, he realized that Aramis hadn't been involved in anything like that for four years, and even though he obviously still possessed the skills that he'd had as a musketeer, Aramis' body was clearly not used to such activity anymore.

With a sigh, Porthos moved his hand to Aramis' arm and pulled. "Come on, we need to talk."

Aramis smiled slightly, still seeming unsure, but hope entered his eyes and Porthos felt guilty again.

They walked towards the steps and climbed them, and Aramis was surprised when they stopped at the door to his old room. Porthos produced a key and opened it. Aramis' eyebrows shot up in surprise to see that his old friend carried it with him.

The inside of the room looked just as Aramis had left it...except that it was obvious that someone was using it.

Porthos dropped the key into his hand. "I'll just...um...take my things out."

Aramis blinked. "Your things?"

Porthos shrugged. "During the war, whenever I was sent back to Paris to report to Treville or whatever, I would come in here."

Aramis' heart broke to hear that, and his knees suddenly felt weak.

Porthos saw Aramis' face suddenly go pale, and he grabbed him by the arms and lowered him into a nearby chair. "Don't move," he said, before going back out the door.

Aramis blinked, feeling dazed. Porthos was mad at him...wasn't even glad to see him after all this time...but yet, Porthos used his room while he'd been away. Why? Too feel closer to him? Then why was he so angry?

The door opened again, and Porthos was suddenly placing a bowl of water on the small table beside him, dipping a cloth into it and carefully dabbing at the bruise on his forehead.

Aramis looked at him, confused by all the contradicting behavior. He reached out and grabbed his arm. "Porthos," he said, before hesitating. " _Talk_ to me...just...just talk."

Porthos halted, before pulling his arm away and handing Aramis the cloth. He sat down heavily in the other chair and looked down at the floor. "I don't know what to say."

Aramis sighed. "Then I'll start?"

Porthos nodded, still looking at the floor.

Aramis held the wet cloth to the bruise on his forehead as he gathered his thoughts. "What I said that last day...about the vow that I made to God. Do you realize— _truly_ realize—that I was condemned to be executed for treason? I was _terrified_ , Porthos."

Porthos looked up at that.

"Fighting a foe is one thing," said Aramis. "Whether swords or pistols, we're in control when we fight. Well... _usually_." He smiled.

Porthos nodded, giving a slight grin in return.

"But I was chained in there for days," Aramis went on, the smile quickly disappearing. "They didn't feed me and I couldn't sleep...you remember."

Porthos did, and looked away again as the memory filled his mind of Aramis' subsequent collapse after they'd killed Rochefort.

"Right before Milady broke me out of prison, I told God that I would devote myself to Him," Aramis said. "And I did...but that wasn't the only reason why I left."

Porthos looked up again.

Aramis put the cloth down and reached for Porthos' arm. "I left to protect _you_. Not just the queen and my son, but you, and Athos, d'Artagnan, and Treville."

Porthos blinked. "What?"

"I had been accused of sleeping with the queen and fathering her child, which was _true_!" said Aramis. "By God's grace, I got away with it! I had to remove myself from the king's sight so he would forget...if I stayed, who knows if he would've once more grown suspicious? Neither the queen nor I would get away with it twice...and you, my friend, would've moved the earth in order to save me again. My execution would've been justified, but not _yours_ …I could not go to my grave knowing that my foolishness caused _your_ death." He squeezed Porthos' arm.

Porthos stared at him. "You didn't want to go."

Aramis shook his head. " _No_ Porthos, _no_ …I didn't _want_ to go…but I felt that I had no choice…" He closed his eyes and lowered his head. "You still had Athos and d'Artagnan…but I had none of you. Four years without my brothers…I don't know how I survived it! Then, God granted me this opportunity to return—"

Without conscious thought, Porthos was suddenly standing and pulling Aramis out of his chair, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "And I treated you like garbage!" he growled. "I'm so sorry!"

"It isn't your fault," Aramis said, hugging him just as fiercely, his eyes welling with tears. "I missed you, Porthos."

"I missed _you_!" Porthos replied. "So much that I avoided your room at first because it hurt to be reminded. But eventually I _needed_ to come in here."

"To feel closer to me," said Aramis.

Porthos nodded. "Yes."

Aramis sighed. "You said that you learned to live without me...how long did it take you?"

Porthos squeezed him tighter, wishing he could take those words back. "I never did…I was always lost without you, despite what I said."

For another minute or two, they clung to each other, unable to let go. Suspicious sniffs came from each of them a few times, until Aramis finally broke the silence.

"I need to breathe, Porthos."

Porthos quickly pulled back, before breaking into a laugh.

Aramis smiled.

Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis' shoulders and brought him over to the bed, where he sat him down. He stood in front of Aramis and looked him over, before reaching out to poke him in the ribs. "Lookin' scrawny."

Of all things Aramis expected to hear, that wasn't one of them. "Scrawny?"

Porthos nodded. "You've lost muscle tone."

Aramis sighed; that was true. "I guess I have my work cut out for me."

Porthos smiled. "You can say _that_ again…and I'm sure you remember how _well_ I train recruits."

Aramis looked at him with mock horror.

Porthos laughed again before before suddenly spotting Athos out the corner of his eye out the window, looking up as he likely wondered what was going on. He stepped closer and gave him a thumbs up, telling Athos that everything was fine.

Athos smiled with relief and nodded.

"Get some rest," Porthos said to Aramis as he walked away. "You're gonna need it!"

Aramis watched him go, with dismay. "You're leaving?"

Porthos approached the table and picked up the basin of water and the cloth with one hand and a chair with the other. He brought them over and placed them down before sitting on the chair and plopping the wet cloth in Aramis' hand. "I'm not going _anywhere,_ " he answered. He shifted to get comfortable and stuck his feet up on the bed.

Aramis smiled, before lying down and placing the wet cloth over the bruise on his forehead. "And neither am I, my friend."

THE END


End file.
